when these bones decay
by thequeenofokay
Summary: Skye's standing on the doorstep, shivering in the pouring rain. She looks frightened and frightening all at the same time. Her hair and her clothes are sticking to her body, but there's dried blood under her nails, her eyes are black and her lips are red. / / they can be monsters together. (and get paid for it.)
1. when these bones decay

**notes:**

+ i think this may be the start of a series and i don't have time for that ugh no what is dark!skyeward doing to me.

+ i also feel like it's necessary to say that i don't agree with ward's own view of himself in this.

+ title from "run" by daughter.

* * *

He has a lot of time to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling in his new SHIELD prison. He knows it has to be new, because it smells like paint and sawdust. It's underground too. He can smell the damp and the rot outside, trying to push through the concrete walls.

He waits for Coulson and May to come and torture him for information.

(He deserves it. He'd give them what he knows anyway, but he deserves it.)

He waits, stares at the ceiling, but they don't come. No one does.

He has a lot of time to think, as Coulson promised, and his thoughts keep coming back to _her._

She hates him, thinks he's disgusting. He thinks he's disgusting too.

But that doesn't change the fact she's just as bad as him.

Will be just as bad as him?

He should want to stop it, to save her from whatever Raina has planned, but maybe this way she'll _understand_ him. They can be monsters together, just like Raina said.

He's selfish. It's a weakness. Or maybe it's what he is without Garrett, without someone to guide him.

HYDRA breaks him out after a couple of months. More accurately, Raina and Quinn do, since they really have as little allegiance to HYDRA as him. If it had been HYDRA itself, he might not have gone.

"We thought," Raina says, "you might bring Skye in for us. We're ready for her now."

He refuses. He won't be a part of whatever Raina is going to do. He won't do that to her.

(He should stop them. He doesn't.)

He leaves. Starts taking on private jobs. Usually from people with a lot of money who want him to silence other people who could stop them from having quite as much money.

He scrapes by. Moves on after every job.

It strikes him once, that this isn't living. This isn't even really surviving.

This is existing. Barely.

A job goes badly in Moscow and he ends up with a nasty knife wound in his side that he has to stitch up in the toilets of a train across the country.

And then Skye's standing on the doorstep of his safe house in the borders, shivering in the pouring rain. She looks frightened and frightening all at the same time. Her hair and her clothes are sticking to her body, but there's dried blood under her nails, her eyes are black and her lips are red.

"I'm a monster," she says.

He moves past to let her in.

She sits on the leather sofa, a little puddle forming around her.

"I'm a monster," she repeats. Her hands are gripping at the leather, sliding against it. She won't let her hands touch her. Her eyes go up to him, still standing by the door. He can't help staring at her. He never could. "But you already knew that."

He nods, a little sadly. He never wanted her to become like him, but now, maybe, she'll understand.

"Raina found me," she says. She's still watching him carefully. "She did things. Woke up something in me, and now I…" She breaks off. Shivers. "Now I want to _hurt_ people. And I can. I can crush their bones just like this." She stands up, moves to the table. Ward hears china grinding down to dust. He doesn't flinch.

"Why are you here?" he asks, when she's done. He thought she would have killed him by now.

Her eyes are back on him. He feels like she can see right into him, read all his darkest secrets like they're written on his forehead. Maybe she can.

"I don't want to hurt you," she says. Her voice is soft. It makes him want to wrap her up in his arms and never let go. "And I thought you might understand."

He wants to tell her he does, oh how he does. Understands the rush, the relief that comes with destruction, but also the weight, the darkness that comes with it.

He wants to tell her, but he doesn't know how, so he just hopes she can see it.

"Can I stay?" she asks.

He doesn't speak. Just nods. Whatever she needs.

They move on in the morning. She clings to his arm and he can't help think it's everything he ever wanted and everything he didn't.

She's scared. Scared of herself. At least she isn't scared of him.

They take a train out of Russia. She spends it sleeping, arms wrapped around her body. He watches her. He wonders, how long will it take, for her to embrace the monster in herself, to stop pushing it down. That it hurts a little less once you learn how.

They reach Minsk. He has work to do, but he tells her he'll drop it if she wants.

She shakes her head. Smiles, slowly. "No," she says. "Let me help."

He doesn't want to say yes, but he could never say no.

They find his target in a hotel bar. A man with the information to bring down a company, should he choose to use it. It's a risk said company is unwilling to take.

Skye approaches him with bright eyes and swinging hips. Then she's leading him up to her room, and Ward follows close behind.

She snaps their mark's neck with an hand around his throat and a sharp, small jerk. He falls onto the creamy carpet, and she looks up at Ward in the doorway. Her eyes are still bright and shiny. Expectant, too, like she's expecting praise like he would give her as her SO.

He can't help but smile. She's brilliant.

"That was fun," she tells him. "We can do this and get paid for it?"


	2. make me feel like i am breathing

**notes:**

+ thanks to taimi (maidmargaery / tumblr) for looking over this for me 3

+ also you should definitely be listening to skyewardians | tumblr | com/post/86458772134/

+ chapter title from "a little death" by the neighbourhood

* * *

Skye is spinning in little circles in their hotel room. Ward would like to look away, but unfortunately it's completely, utterly, totally impossible. He wonders if she has this effect on everyone, or if he is one of the privileged few who can see her for the goddess she is.

She turns to him. "I need new clothes," she says. Her head is tilted to one side, her hands tugging at the sleeves of her faded, ripped shirt. It takes him a moment to pull himself together and realise he's supposed to answer.

"Why?" he asks.

She frowns, eyebrows drawing together. "I have none," she says, like he's being really, really stupid (he is). There's so much resemblance to the old Skye then, in her voice, in the way she puts her hands on her hips and raises an eyebrow, that he expects her to turn around and hit him, curse him for his betrayal. She doesn't.

Unfortunately, this means he has to come up with a reply.

"I don't know any shops in Vienna," he says.

She smiles, all bright and pink, and the new Skye is back. "Don't be silly," she says. "I'm sure we'll find somewhere." She takes his hand and leads him out (into the big wide world).

She drags him round the city, into dozens of shops. Skye doesn't speak a word of German. All she can say is hello, but she says it a lot. Purrs it at shopkeepers. She's got this way of charming them into looking the other way.

(They used to do this, a long time ago, she would drag him round the supermarket, hiding all sorts of wildly inappropriate food under her jacket).

She doesn't pay for a thing, despite his protests that he has cash. Just waltzes out with a new jacket or shoes or a dress or a shirt (never plaid or blue - always plain, usually black or red or white). Nobody notices.

His phone buzzes half way through the day. Their target is in the city.

He doesn't want to tell her they have to go. He loves watching her get excited. Loves that she insists on dragging him into the changing rooms and spinning for him like he's her boyfriend (no, don't think that).

But he does. She pouts.

* * *

They're in a busy restaurant. It's not ideal, not by any stretch of the imagination. But it's the first time that their target has left his fortress-like house in months.

And it strikes Ward, as they sit across the table from each other, that this is everything he could ever want. Skye is in one of her new dresses, her hair spilling round her shoulders, lips bright pink. She's leaning back, her eyes flickering between him and the man a few tables away.

The dress reminds him of one, a long time ago. It's the same shape, same cut, but red instead of pink.

"So," she begins. She's tapping her knife against the edge of the table, and she's got one much sharper tucked under that dress, though he knows she doesn't need either to kill. "Are we slipping something in his drink or stabbing him when he goes to piss or have a smoke?" Her voice is low, she's smirking slightly. "I know which I'd prefer."

He should chastise her for that. Their job shouldn't be enjoyed. That leads to mistakes, it leads to acting on impulse. Feeling is a weakness in this line of work. Their hearts should be cold if they are ever even going to see the New Year.

But that has all been abandoned now. Cast aside. He can't be around her and not feel. He can't ask her to obey rules he is blatantly ignoring.

There's no one left to set rules anyway. It's only them now. They'll enjoy it if they damn well want.

"Stab him it is, then," he says.

Their target (Ward never learned his name - didn't want to, didn't need to) gets up after another half an hour and heads for the back door, and Skye smiles, all sweet and not at all innocent. She puts down her knife and fork carefully. Stands up slowly.

"Well," she says. "Shall we go for a little fresh air?"

The man - balding, pale skinned and not much taller than Skye - is lighting a cigarette when they get out.

"You got a spare?" she asks him, leaning against the wall.

He blinks at her a couple of times. His English can't be great. He holds out the packet for her, though.

She takes one. Looks up at Ward with raised eyebrows, questioning, as she lights her own with their target's lighter. _You want one?_

He should maybe be surprised. He isn't. He just shakes his head.

Then she's leaning her head back, blowing smoke up at the night sky.

(It smells disgusting, but it's gorgeous, so he doesn't care. All the most beautiful things have a nasty side effect.)

She catches his eyes, drops the cigarette to the ground and grinds it down with her heel, and he knows what she's going to do before she does it.

Her knife is through their target's stomach (once, twice, more times than necessary), and Ward stamps on his throat, hard, to keep him from making a sound.

They leave him in the restaurant's bins for someone else to find. Tomorrow morning, maybe even tonight, someone will find a body. They'll scream. The cops will be called.

But by then the two of them will be long gone.

Skye pops a piece of gum into her mouth. Smiles up at him. "Shall we?" she asks, and turns on her heel, waltzing off into the night and leaving him to follow.

* * *

Their hotel room is dark, and he doesn't turn on the lights. She standing by the window, golden glow from the streetlights outside illuminating her like an angel.

"Why?" she asks him. She's now approaching - advancing at him, even, across the room.

"Why what?" he asks her.

"Why don't you kiss me?"

There's suddenly not nearly enough air in the room.

"I know you want to." She's smiling, coming closer and closer. He should stop her. This isn't right. "I know you want me. I can see it."

"Skye," he says.

She's right there, now, hand ghosting over his shoulder, palm coming to rest on the back of his neck. "It's okay," she says. "I know." She's barely whispering. "I know you. We're the same." She smiles, soft and so Skye.

He gives up then.

No. Doesn't give up.

Gives _in_.

Pulls her close, kisses her, until her back is pressed against the wall, her breaths are ragged and his heart has stopped beating altogether.


End file.
